


Halla Rising - Solavellan Drabbles

by Destiny_Apocalypse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Recreational Drug Use, pregnancy mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-18 12:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12388263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_Apocalypse/pseuds/Destiny_Apocalypse
Summary: A collection of drabbles, mostly from tumblr prompts. May contain smut





	1. Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during What Pride Has Wrought
> 
> One thing that still always blows me away is knowing that at some point, however brief, Solas decided to abandon his duty to be with Lavellan. Obviously he backed out, but I was thinking a lot about when and what that moment of truth happened in my canon, which led to this little drabble.

**Duty**

She watches him as they make their way through the Temple’s entrance that has been all but claimed by the surrounding jungle. He had known of what to expect when the Inquisition had first become aware of the activity in the Arbor Wilds, had prepared himself for the inevitable. Mythal’s temple would merely be a shadow of what it once had been, like all the forgotten temples and ruins still remaining.

Seeing it in person however, was another matter entirely.

“I am sorry, Solas.” She turns to him while The Iron Bull is busy clearing a path of rubble for them to proceed.

He pauses at her odd statement.

“What have you to be sorry about?”

“Ancient elves are your passion. To be in a place like this, and have no time to explore its memories in the fade? It must be quite a disappointment.”

“My attitude is in deference to the lives and people that once filled these temple walls, not to any lost opportunity for me to study them. I know our mission is to come first, Inquisitor.”

Her eyes meet his, before darting away to look at a piece of crumbled statue on the ground. She gives a little shrug.

“It’s okay to be a little selfish about it. I know keepers that would sacrifice their first born to be where we are now.” She exhales harshly, turning her head aside so all he sees is a flash of dark hair. “I just hope whatever Corypheus is doing here won’t do any further damage.”

“There is little more he could do that hasn’t already been turned to ashes several times over.”

“I suppose so.”

She reaches for his hand and gives him a gentle squeeze before moving ahead to direct the group deeper into the temple.

He mulls over her words as they walk past walls that once gleamed like diamonds, and now stood bare and eroded by time and the elements. He had been far more selfish than she knew. Selfish enough to think he could keep duty and love separate, instead of the opposing forces they were. The time was quickly reaching the point where one would have to come before the other.

He watches now as she puzzles over the altar, with words on the tip of his tongue. Yet he remains silent; another truth held back, another secret hoarded that churns inside him so strongly he feels the weight of it could nearly crush him. Especially here of all places, where memories lurk behind every cracked ruin and faded mosaic. He had seen these rooms in all their grandeur and walked their floors to perform the very rituals that blocked their path forward.

So he sits, weary from battle as he leans his weight onto his staff in the dusty bones of his former world, and feigns ignorance to the witch’s baseless speculations next to him. He does not trust himself to speak from the grief that threatens to rise up his throat at any moment. He focuses his attention instead back to the Inquisitor, allowing her once more to act as his anchor to this world.

After several failed attempts, she stops and stares at the altar, finger counting a beat in the air. Something has clicked, and now her back straightens, her movements becoming almost dance like.

He blinks; realizing it is a dance, however subtle. There are no dramatic whirls or flourishes, but a fluidity in her stance that speaks to a familiarity to the pattern as runes begin to activate after thousands of years of being inert. The dance is not flawless; and with each misstep the runes stutter and fade out, until she steps back and tries again. She repeats the pattern and adjusts; his heart beating rapidly against his chest as he recognizes what she has created.

A medley of Ancient and Dalish; a combination of faithful contemplation and ritualistic dance that had been passed down to her through generations of elves that came before her.

And it works. A connection from his world to hers; a small spark that still remained in this shattered temple. She glances over towards him, eyes bright and skin aglow from the light of the fully active runs.

There was still hope, in these people.

Perhaps…he could be selfish.


	2. In Which Solas Gets Some New Scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Vivienne and Solas being snarky…and friendship if you squint.

The apostate was bent over the desk, the flickering of the candle’s lights casting a glow across his bald scalp. One of the shards they’d recovered from the Forbidden Oasis lay on the table, the study of which had brought Vivenne to this part of Skyhold that she rarely found herself in. She glanced at the ravens up at the rookery with a wary eye, before turning towards the artifact. She felt his aura shift as the apostate’s magic surged through the veil, his fingers winding a spell with far more delicacy than she expected from one who learned their craft in the woods. The shard shimmered as the spell touched it, but otherwise remained unaffected by the display. 

Solas sighed, straightening up from the table. Sweat dripped down the side of his face from his close proximity to their candles, and her eyes darted to his neck, where he adjusted his collar due to the heat.

“This artifact has proven most resistant to our attempts to study it,” he lamented, though Vivenne found her immediate attention narrowing in not on his words but on the small mouth shaped bruise on the side of his neck; purple and surrounded by marks that were unmistakably made by teeth. They looked quite recent.

Her brow arched slightly.

“Solas. I’m pleased to see you and the Inquisitor are finally getting along.”

If he was surprised by her sudden topic of conversation, he showed it only in the slight narrow of his eyes in her direction as he set his hands back onto the desk.

“She was understandably wary of me as someone allied with the people that threatened her with execution. Thankfully we were able to come to an understanding, considering we must all work together to stop Corypheus.”

“Yes, quite,” Vivienne commented, with just a hint of disbelief.

Solas turned back to the shard, letting silence drift between them as he prepared another spell.

“She is a pretty thing, underneath those rags, is she not?”

“Pardon?” This time he did not bother to keep the irritation from his tone. Vivenne smiled privately.

“Oh, you’d be hard pressed to tell with those dreadfully bulky clothes she wears, and the stench of elfroot strong enough to keep you a few feet away, but she does have a certain…physical appeal, don’t you agree, Solas dear?”

Solas set his mouth into a thin line.

“I fail to see the relevance of the Inquisitor’s physical appearance to our task here, Enchanter. I apologize, but I was under the impression that you were to assist with the research we are attempting to accomplish.”

“I am here to assist our Inquisitor in more than the duties she assigns us, as you are well aware of Solas. However, the fact is that she is a young, attractive and vulnerable elf finding herself in an unexpected position of power. We have a duty as members of her Inquisition to ensure that she is not taken advantage of.”

Solas cocks his head slightly, considering her.

“How do you mean, exactly?”

“People will try to get close to her, to ply her for favors by giving attention and false promises in the hopes of fame and riches by the Divine Herald. To use her for the influence she can wield in their favor. I’m sure you can agree, anyone attempting to gain her confidence under such false pretenses deserves only the harshest punishment.”

He chuckles. 

“You do the Herald so little credit, Enchanter. She has come a long way from the scared girl you met at Haven. She is becoming a leader for her people to follow and finding her voice for the first time. But…I do agree that it would be prudent for us to keep our eyes open for those attempting to utilize her favor in such an underhanded method.”

His gaze was as steely as her own as his hands folded neatly behind his back.

“I expect that you would, given that you and the Inquisitor have begun to work quite closely now that she has been studying rift magic like you, dear apostate.”

“Indeed; her skills are becoming quite proficient due to her diligence in the matter. Perhaps during our next training session you might want to supervise to ensure her education is being done to your standards?”

“Perhaps another time, Solas.” Reaching over the table, Vivienne reached for the high collar of his sweater, tugging it up back over the love bite on his neck. 

“But do tell her that the collarbone is a much better target to leave a mark on, as it can be covered up much easier. I have some scarves that would look marvelous on you and add some color to your drab wardrobe. I’ll see to it that they’re sent to your quarters in the meantime.”

She was gratified when she leaned back to find his retort cut short and a blush forming all the way to the tip of his ears.


	3. Superstitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Finding the other wearing their clothes. Ashanna has a minor superstitious freakout.

Solas was bathing.

She assumed that to be the case anyways, given that his clothing lay discarded on a flat rock, as neatly folded as she had come to expect of the hedge mage. The light splashing sound in the distance seemed to confirm this theory, and Ashanna distinctly recalled a bit of grumbling on his end at the unusual humidity to be found in the forests of this region that was unfamiliar to him.

Which was more than a little baffling; it wasn’t a region her clan traveled through frequently, but the weather had always been as such as far as she knew; they briefly rode the aravels on the outskirts of the forests to keep as far away from the human settlements as possible, and even as a child riding on her father’s shoulders she remembered her hair turning frizzy and damp from the weather here.

The sounds rushing water could be heard in the distance beyond the row of trees that shielded the small lake from the clearing she stood in, reminding her that there was absolutely no reason for her to be lurking around his orderly stacked pile of clothing. The slight ache caused by a sudden flare up of the anchor was not serious, and wasn’t worth pulling him from whatever relief he got from the cool waters.

The pelt of gray fur laying atop the pile caught her eye just as she was about to turn to leave. She knew it to be wolf fur, as Solas once confirmed some time ago when he noticed her staring at it with furrowed brows. His eyes had been hard then, as if he still expected her to be judgmental about this small facet of her people’s religion that she was well aware he did not follow. There was a tension that rose between them that she didn’t quite understand, and it wasn’t the first time she wondered as to his odd history with the Dalish religion.  

She much preferred when his eyes turned soft with surprise when she commented that it seemed like a comfortable spot to rest her head, instead.

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she reached out to run her hand along the softness of the pelt, feeling a very strong urge to drape it over herself to see what it was like. Her hand hovered, outstretched over the fur while she hesitated, feeling more than a little foolish at a sudden wave of apprehension that washed over her. It was just a pelt. And it didn’t even belong to her!

She turned on her heel to leave back towards camp where Bull and Dorian were no doubt horribly butchering the kill she dropped off before the anchor began to become a bother.

One second later she reversed her course, glanced around nervously, and finally gave in. Snatching the pelt in one smooth motion, Ashanna wrapped it around her and belted it into her robes, smoothing it down with both hands.

Oh, that was soft. And warm. 

And completely blasphemous. While it was inevitable to have to hunt wolves on occasion, particularly those that became aggressive towards the halla, actually wearing the fur was not an acceptable practice by _any_ means. _Especially_ not for keepers in training. It was a bad omen, and she could almost hear Deshanna’s warning of drawing the Dread Wolf’s gaze with her mischief.

It was all nonsense of course, but her head still darted back and forth around the clearing, as if Fen'Harel was actually lurking in the shadows just as her elders warned, just waiting for the opportunity to snap up a rebellious Dalish girl.

Several moments passed, and nothing happened. Of course nothing would have happened, as if wearing a simple piece of fur-

The snap of a twig broke the silence of the cool evening air, resulting in her nearly jumping out of her skin at the sudden sound. An embarrassingly loud squeak of surprise that she couldn’t quite stifle escaped her before she caught sight of the wet elf returning to his clothing.

“Creators! Oh, Solas…it’s you-”

“You were expecting someone else to come claim my clothing?” His eyebrow raised in a manner she has known him to do when he is amused, more so when his eyes flickered to the pelt still wrapped around her. 

“No, ah…" 

Her voice is embarrassingly high pitched and shrill, though whether it’s from her sudden fright or the fact that he was wearing nothing save for a small linen towel she was unsure. She coughed. 

“Never mind, it’s stupid. I’m just glad it’s you.”

He let out a huff of air, though she can tell by the slight smile hiding in the corners of his mouth that her words pleased him.

“Now I do have a wonder as to what your plans were with my clothing.”

“Nothing!” She protested, flinging the wolf fur back at Solas. He caught it easily, looking amused at her sudden panic. “I had no devious motives. Just…” She trailed off, fidgeting from the ridiculous amount of adrenaline still coursing through her. 

A deep inhale helped calm her fluttering nerves, in only slightly. 

“I’ll see you back at camp,” She muttered, refusing to meet his gaze as she turned to trudge back through the woods, his chuckle ringing through her ears.

Dread Wolf _take_ him. 


	4. Flash Fiction Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The challenge was to write something in 5 minutes with no editing
> 
> Inspired by this banter;
> 
> Cole: They are not gone so long as you remember them.  
> Solas: I know.  
> Cole: But you could let them go.  
> Solas: I know that as well.

He could let himself be the simple, wandering apostate she believed him to be. A humbling role for the man that was once both feared and respected as Dread Wolf, but not an unpleasant one. There was a simplicity that he enjoyed in living by ones own whims, traveling to places where memories lay thickest, and it was one of the few pleasures he had found while wandering in this broken world.

But this time he would not walk alone.

His vhenan and him would travel Thedas hand in hand, seeking out memories and spirits in ruins and buildings long abandoned. Waking up next to one another, and exploring one another as thoroughly as the dreams they combed through in the fade at their leisure, with no duty or responsibility to drive them apart.

He would spend days taking her apart and putting her back together, simply because he could.

She would perhaps grow heavy with child, _his child_. 

He would build a house, he thought, just a simple one. Something to nest in in order for her to give birth comfortably and safely in isolation.

The child would have her eyes, and his cheekbones, and their skin a beautiful amalgam of their parent’s contrasting skin tones.

His heart was Dalish though, and would have a hard time sitting still in one location for too long in domesticity. It was not her way to stay chained to one spot, and he would not let her wanderlust be suppressed.

They would stay on the move. Perhaps have another child, or two. Teach them of the fade, how to grow into their magic, and of ancient stories that were told to him by his own parents that were dead thousands years over.

 _Abbae_ , they would plead. _Tell us a story!_

The orb that he had recovered would remain in his keeping; his power potent and ensuring that no harm would befall upon his family.

Save that of mortality, the only thing he could not protect them from. A slow death that would claim his vhenan and his children before his eyes, their lives over before they could truly be realized

And it was all of his own doing. It was not the image of his love growing old that concerned him; he would love her no matter what her form. But the knowledge of her inevitable death, and the death of their progeny twisted in his gut so thick he could vomit. 

He would outlive them all, and wander alone a more broken man than before.  

This world was a mistake. _His mistake_. 

The People had suffered and lost so much because of his actions. Each time an elf aged and died, it was as if it were done by his own hand. The weight of it was crushing; only assuaged in those brief moments of bliss that he was able to steal away with the Inquisitor.

Moments that he didn’t deserve, but treasured nonetheless.

_How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence_

He would save the Elvhen People, even if it meant he would remain He Who Hunts Alone. 


	5. Unwind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt; hands of fate. Some late night introspective Solas. Kind of angsty.

Her hands are small, rough things. Callouses formed from a childhood of hardship make them tough and unyielding, and old burn scars hide in the cracks of her skin and tell a story he’d seen countless times during his slumber, of magic misunderstood and mismanaged by a world that shuns it. She hides it well, but there is a stiffness in her fingers that lingers from a severe frostbite even he was unable to fully purge from her hands.

They are hands that an elven woman from ages past would have sneered at; hands of a laborer, a farmer, or a slave.

But it is her hands that have pulled him from brink of disaster every time.

They healed that very first rift, and for the first time since waking hope blossomed inside him for a brief moment.

They plunged into the putrid swamp to his aid after a moment of carelessness, when he was nearly pulled under by an undead creature.

The warm press of them against his cheek as they conversed in the fade; a sudden and shy kiss that took him by surprise and changed everything.

They look like tiny things when he holds them in his larger, battle worn hands and yet they have the power to unwind him entirely. When logic prevails over the constant battle warring in his head, when he has steeled himself to his duty and gathered every bit of resolve left in his aching  soul, it only takes a light brush of those rough hands against his skin that crumbles all he had built to resist.

And it is so _tiring_ to keep resisting when her arms open to him with such genuine delight.  

He thinks he can almost do it, but then she touches him with her marked hand and he is lost; his magic is seared into her soul and bound to her, and the line connecting them sings when the anchor presses against him; an echo of the magic he once wielded.  

Her hands are beautiful and strong, holding and binding him to this world as if it took very little effort on her end to care for a monster such as he.

A monster that would ultimately destroy that inner strength and the trust that she had not given to him lightly, when that same anchor that reminded him of home would eventually eat away at her flesh and bone until only raw agony remained. It would be inevitable once he recovered the orb and set about completing his original task.

_It would be unspeakably cruel of to do this during her lifetime. Why not put your plans on hold…what is a hundred more years to an immortal? Why not live her short life at her side?_

It is tempting, as is everything about her. It is also madness. As if living and loving a mortal wouldn’t change him.

Her hand had already changed him, and it was foolish of him to think otherwise. When he first awoke his path had been clear and purposeful after a thousand years witnessing this broken world second hand. A few scant months later and his goals had fluctuated and were no longer as clear cut as they had appeared to be.

The Dread Wolf, tamed by the hand of one small elf that reached out for him in love. if it didn’t make him want to weep and rage, he suspected it would make for a lovely, if woefully inaccurate retelling among the Dalish some day.

Her arms wrap around him now in their slumber, the press of her rough hands and jagged fingernails sliding against bare skin and making him shiver. She is deep in slumber and her movements unconscious, but the steady mantra of her heart against his stems the flow of his melancholic thoughts, at least for now.

His lips press into the glowing seam on her hand that glows dully and breathes deeply at the surge of mana that sparks against his own at the contact. The light flickers and casts shadows that dance between the freckles that pattern her skin.

Her hands clutch him like a lifeline even in sleep, and it is only then that his mind is able to calm enough to slip back across the veil. 


	6. Nettled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Solas finds out he is allergic to rashvine. Unfortunately, it is everywhere in the Emerald Graves

It’s Sera that notices it first, so naturally she announces it to the entire camp. 

“Ey, baldie. Am I gonna have to watch you scratch your arse all night?”

“Excuse me?” There is a slight bristle in his tone that Ashanna registered dimly in the back of her mind, but her attention is currently consumed by the pot of nug stew that was earning a generous scowl from her. Apparently it had been severe enough to chase away the last requisition agent that tried to approach her.

They had had stewed nug from breakfast that morning, and the night before that, and the day before that. Clearly the Inquisition soldiers were picking what was easiest to kill, yet each day they practically tripped over august rams and brontos that had far more edible meat. Perhaps it would be worth writing up a report on proper hunting habits for Cullen to deliver to the troops. She hadn’t even been a hunter at Clan Lavellan but…Creators, their abilities were shameful. She brought in better kills than these sorry nugs when she was six, and could probably write up some useful tips for tracking that would be beneficial for them to use in other methods as well-

“I would thank you not to touch me again, Sera!” Solas’ voice rang out across the camp, his irritation now palpable in the snap of his tone.

Ah, there she went again, lost in her own head while the rest of the world went on. She turned from the pot to find Solas with the rear side of his tunic flung over the back of his head and Sera dancing away as he flailed, her cackle loud and triumphant as he furiously batted down the errant article of clothing in an attempt to regain a modicum of dignity.

She would have laughed, until her eyes fell on the red marks of his explosed backside; stark and raw against the pale white of his skin until he shoved his clothing back into place.

“Stupid tit, didja sit in a nest of thistles or something? Even _I’m_ not dumb enough to do that!”

“Of course not,” Solas huffed, his face visibly pink as his eyes flickered over towards Ashanna, then to the other Inquisition agents furiously trying not to laugh. “While it does appear to be born of some reaction to an irritant, I was not careless enough to simply-”

“Oh, _ma'halla_. It’s a reaction to the rashvine here; I used to see hunters coming back with it after going into the woods filled with it.”

“I do not doubt your knowledge on local flora, but I have traveled these forests before and had no such reaction.”

“The you were incredibly fortunate to miss every piece of vine in the Emerald Graves.” Her brow raises as she strides past him, digging around in some of the requisition crates. After a moment she finds what she was looking for; it had only taken a day’s travel into the forests before they began stocking the salve necessary to combat the rashvine nettle that permeated the area.

“I do not recall such a distasteful plant being as plentiful before,” Solas mused, scratching his backside absent mindedly.

Ashanna snorted. “Then you must have been looking too deep in the fade. This nasty stuff is everywhere.”

“Perhaps so.” His voice softened and sounded almost wistful as she approached him with the salve in hand.

“May I take a look?” The question was asked innocently, but it wasn’t until the words left her mouth that she realized there was something rather foreword about it considering where the majority of his rash lay on his body. Particularly when Sera let out a whoop of laughter and began making obscene gestures at the two of them.

“I will defer to your expertise on this topic, _vhenan_. Though perhaps it would be best to do so in private?” The look of disapproval he short towards the other elf practically rolled off of him in waves as he made his way towards the Inquisitor’s private tent. Before Ashanna could join him, however, Sera’s loud cough clearly meant to get her attention caught her ear. She beamed; looking every bit the cat that caught the canary. 

“You’re welcome, Inky,” Sera grinned, waggling her eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?”

Sera’s pantomime took a moment for her to process, as it involved motions of putting something in something else (possibly pants?), furious scratching, and what could only be described as sensual rubbing.

“You did this?”

“It’s great, yeah? Bad for him, and good for you! It’s win win! It’s like a prank with benefits!”  

“Sera, you know people can have extremely severe reactions to rashvine, right? You can’t just-”

“Well he didn’t, right? Just got itchy and all. Shite, way to ruin both my hilarious prank and thoughtful hookup." 

Ashanna’s frown lessened slightly, though it was still present. Sera fidgeted under her gaze, sulking, until she finally sighed and waved her hands in a shooing motion. 

"Ugh you’ll thank me later. Go rub that old bald arse down with salve or something while I try not to picture it.”

“Well then…”

It did seem most of the rash was focused on his…lower regions. She went back to the crate to dig through it again. Could never have too much salve, just to be safe.


	7. "Hair" Washing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "hair" washing

The sun of the Forbidden Oasis is sweltering, but the cool spray of the waters of the falls are like a blessing from the Creators themselves. After a day of fighting Venatori, trekking across the desert and climbing precarious rocks to reach those void taken shards everyone is drenched in sweat with sand in all the wrong places. 

It takes little coaxing for the party to strip their outer armor off and find relief in the shallow waters; save for Cole who seems undisturbed by the heat.

Ashanna lays back in the shallowest part of the waters; letting her hair float through the reeds. She can hear Bull splashing around in the deeper area of the lagoon near the falls, but it’s Solas’ muffled curse that has her lifting her head from the water.

“Forgot your sunburn spell?” she calls out to him, his bright red scalp standing out starkly in the surroundings. He kneels in the water, wearing nothing but his thin leather breeches. She tries not to let her eyes linger too much, knowing that he had asked for time to consider this nebulous thing that was growing between them.

“Yes, please laugh at my plight,” he frowns, cupping water to dump over his burned head. “I have already more than enough fried egg jokes courtesy of Sera.”

“I didn’t laugh, did I?” She snaps, standing up from the waters. Her tunic sticks to her and she wrings out the excess water before wading over towards the bag she’d left on the rocks. Slinging it around her shoulder, she wades over to Solas, still kneeling in the waters.  He moves to rise but she puts her hand on his shoulders, gently coaxing him to sit.

“Let me help,” she says.

Rummaging through her bag she finds what she’s searching for; a salve of aloe and elfroot extract that she keeps on hand for times such as these. She does not burn easily, but she knows it soothes as much as it softens the skin. Kneeling behind Solas, she covers her hands with the salve and gently begins to apply it to the back of his scalp.

He stiffens when she first touches the tender skin, then relaxes back against her knees when the soothing properties begin to take effect.

“Oh,” he breathes, and she cannot see his face but she can imagine his eyes closing in relief from the pleased hum he lets out. She lets her hands roam over the back of his head, rubbing the salve up and around the curve of his skull, smiling at the little noises he lets out. She goes down the back of his neck, rubbing circles into his skin to help it to absorb the salve better, then back up to cover the red spots behind his ears. She leans forward, wet tunic brushing against his back while she keeps working.

He stills, body going rigid and a new redness spreading from his upper back to shoulders.

“Ashanna,” he says, and she pauses at his uncharacteristic use of her first name, rather than title.

“Solas,” she answers. 

“Thank you,” he says finally, exhaling sharply. The tops of his shoulders are definitely redder than they were a moment before. 

She reaches into her bag for a cloth, wets it in the waters and tosses it over Solas’ head.

“Remember the spell next time, _lethallin_.”  


	8. A failed Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW
> 
> High elf rolls a critical failure on seduction

When he wakes she is on top of him. Not entirely unusual, nor is the strong scent of elfroot wafting from her as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. He coughs, finding the scent overpowering.

“You have returned,” he observes once he collects his voice. “Your visit to Orlais was successful then?”

She murmurs her response into his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. He cannot hear all her muffled words, but he catches something about “Josephine” and “assassin” and “Sera’s secret stash.”

“I am…pleased you returned safely then,” he says, rubbing her shoulder with the hand that was not pinned under her body.

She lifts her head to look at him, lolling slightly in her state. Her amber eyes are wide and dilated and she wears her traveling leathers, still dusty from the journey.

“Did you miss me?” she asks, ever the tease while under the influence of mild altering drugs. She leans in close to his ear, letting her breath ghost over the shell. “I missed you. Your hands. Your hands on my body.” Her tongue drags across the point of his ear, forcing him to stifle a groan of pleasure.

“All I could think about on the ride back to Skyhold was what I wanted to do with you when I returned.” she continues, voice barely a whisper.

“And that is…?” he prompts, fingers moving down to rub the tops of her thighs.

“Hold on. I’ll show you.” She fiddles with her belts, struggling with it for a long minute before pulling it off in a dramatic flourish, throwing it against the wall of his bare little room. Her tunic is next, or at least she attempts to draw it off but only manages to get it tangled in the layers of riding clothes she wears. She falls backwards from his lap, landing on the edge of the bed with her jacket half off and stuck over her head. A few moments later and he hears a tiny, pleading voice.

“Help.”

Shaking his head he pulls her up so her flailing does not launch her off of the bed and carefully untangles the layers of fabric she was wrapped in. By the time he strips off the jacket caught over her face she meets his gaze with a far more sheepish look than the sultry temptress she played at before. He cannot help it; he laughs at the look on her face, a deep rich laughter that he has not felt in some time. She joins in, hands over her flushed face.

When the laughter dies down, he looks at her fondly and pulls her hands from her face to kiss her on the forehead.

“Perhaps some rest would be more prudent,” he suggests.

She moves closer to him, sliding under his arm and lays there until both of them drift back into the fade.


	9. Burning Up (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is not a dreadful creature. At all. 
> 
> Hella NSFW

Of all the parts of Solas she loves, she thinks she loves his tongue the most.

Though perhaps her opinion on the matter is more than a little biased, given that at the current moment the clever tongue in question was being put to good use.

 _Very_ good use.

Solas’ head is nestled firmly between her legs, paying little mind to how tightly her thighs are clenching around him. His hands curl under her rear, guiding her closer to his mouth with a deep chuckle. Ashanna whimpers, low and heady, inhaling sharply when his tongue traces a delicate pattern around her sensitive skin. Her clit throbs from overstimulation; she is almost at her threshold of too much and the direct touch of him makes her flinch slightly at the contact.

Solas notices her reaction immediately; he is nothing if not observant when it comes to her comfort and she can see his spine stiffen as he prepares to pull back. Unlacing her fingers from his, Ashanna gently tugs on the back of her lover’s neck in a silent plea for him to continue. His eyes sweep over the length of her flushed body, then meet hers; warm and dark with promise before he quirks his lips and dips back between her legs.

He adjusts his pace accordingly. Two fingers spread her open as his tongue slips between her folds as deep as it can reach while his other hand uses its thumb to stroke the less sensitive flesh above her clit, teasing out her pleasure without having to touch it directly. And oh, the feel of that talented, _long_ tongue inside her, stroking her inner walls, coaxes sounds out of her that makes her thankful for the soundproof wards Solas sets without fail.

Her hips twitch as his tongue flicks a spot deep inside her that has her insides fluttering; prompting an inelegant moan that would never come out of the women from the Orlesian literature littered in hiding spots throughout her room. Funny how those stories neglected to mention how _messy_ this whole act could be, leaving out all the sweating and grunting and fun parts in favor of heaving bosoms and soft gasps of ecstasy.

Solas sets a relentless pace that has her gripping fistfuls of sheets and her thoughts scatter as all she can focus on is _there right there please_. Pure, liquid pleasure pools at the base of her spine and spreads outwards, lifting her body into an arch from the bed. She is so, _so_ close to her finish when he hesitates, and for one panicked moment she thinks he intends to deny her until her body floods with a tingling warmth of an unfamiliar spell. A choked sound escapes as her mana reacts to his magic; a euphoric rush through her veins that sends her violently over the edge of her climax.

She shakes from the intensity of it; coming with a high pitched sound that fills his small room, and arches up around him until only his hand supporting her back keeps her steady. Still Solas does not let up; he digs his fingers into her hips and laps at her until the tremors subside and her body sags back to the bed, skin tingling and gasping for breath.

He plants a final wet kiss on the inside of her thighs, before crawling up to lay beside her. A moment later and he pulls her into his arms.

“It was good?” He asks, not even bothering to conceal his smug expression.

“Awful,” Ashanna replies, leaning up to gently kiss the cleft in his chin. Her thumb swipes away remnants of her arousal.

“Ah. I shall endeavor to perform better next time, if I have not shamed myself too terribly in your eyes for a place in your bed.”

She snorts, unable to keep up the ruse and throws her arms around his neck to pull their sweaty bodies closer together. He responds with enthusiasm, chuckling and kissing her collarbone before nipping her skin lightly. 

Her hands map the planes of his face; along the sharp cheekbones, pointed ears and along the back of his bare scalp. He shivers in her arms when her fingertips lightly trace the skin there and pushes his forehead into her shoulder. She moves her fingers in gentle circles across his head, but when she touches behind his ears he whimpers; a high pitched whine that she never thought to hear come out of the hedge mage.

She can’t help it; laughter bubbles out of her at the sound of it.

“One of my halla used to make a sound like that when I scratched behind his ear. I never expected to hear it out of you, _ma’halla_ ,” she teases.

“I do not sound like a halla,” he says, mouth twitching.

“ _Ara seranna-ma_ , Solas. I have been tending halla since I was a child; I believe I am the expert on this particular matter for once.”

Solas lets out his breath in a puff of air on her shoulder before lifting his head to look at her directly. His eyes flicker towards the blue tattoos crossing her chin and forehead and his expression sobers slightly from its earlier mirth. He cocks his head to the side, considering her.

“I had wondered as to your choice in Ghilan'nain for your vallaslin. I suppose that explains your decision to bear her markings.”

“Bear her markings? What an odd way to put it,” Ashanna raises an eyebrow at her lover. “But yes, it made sense to honor the halla mother, as most of our herd I raised myself from foals. They were my friends.”

Solas is silent for a long moment before he responds.

“You must miss them. It is not the same to be in the company of horses and those dreadful lizard creatures you bestowed onto the poor Horsemaster.”

“I do,” Ashanna says, forcing down an unwanted lump in her throat. It wasn’t a topic she liked to linger on. “But there are others to care for them as well as I would, if not better. They will be fine.”

She lets out a deep sigh, letting her head fall back to the pillow.

“And Inrel is _not_ a dreadful creature.”

“The bite marks on your hands say otherwise, vhenan.”

“What about these bite marks? Does that make you a dreadful creature, then?” Ashanna indicates a ring of tiny, red marks at the base of her neck.

The face he makes is quite fascinating; as if he cannot decide whether to grimace or burst into laughter. A pained sigh that breaks off into a snort is all he manages as he glances away from her.

“There may be some who would think of me as such,” He says without mirth.

“Ah, _ma’halla_ , I was joking. You’re not dreadful. I find you quite wonderful, in fact.” She touches his shoulder, beckoning him back to her. He obliges, burying his head into juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“You may be the only one that does,” He breathes into her skin.

Ashanna brushes her hand in a manner she hopes is reassuring over his shoulder. Not for the first time, she wonders what has left her lover such a guarded man in his earlier life.

“Cole loves you too,” she offers helpfully, earning a small laugh from the elf in her arms.

“Indeed, my heart,” he says softly, pressing his lips into that raw bite mark in a gentle kiss. She feels the healing magic seeping into her skin before he moves lower to pull one dark nipple between his lips.

She recognizes it as a distraction, but it is a good one and for now she lets her thoughts go back to that clever tongue rather than his secrets.


	10. Flash and Burn (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW
> 
> Stoner elf smut, but with feelings

Solas was, in his estimation, quite high. Even with the large tent reserved for exclusive use by the Inquisitor, enough smoke filled the space to create a white haze that burned the eyes moments upon entering. Enough royal elfroot had been lit so that merely breathing in the air was enough to make one lightheaded and he could only imagine the smell extended for some meters outside the tent. And yet he still found himself accepting the rolled up bundle of herbs when she passed it to him, inhaling it deeply into his lungs.

Perhaps not the wisest of his decisions, but he had made far worse ones, both in recent and ancient memory. The harm of a bit of mind dulling bliss was minimal and controllable.

And enjoyable, given his current company.

Ashanna stretched, shoulder brushing against his as bones popped from the effort. Her eyes were glazed from the herb as she pushed magic through the smoke, weaving it into formless patterns.

He lay next to her, one hand clasped over his stomach as the other considered the cylinder of herb in his fingers. They were both cushioned by furs and pillows that had been stuffed with august ram and fennec fur, and were a blessed relief for their travel weary bodies. The distant sound of hammering and equipment being moved across camp could be heard, but only just, thanks to the sound dampening wards he’d placed at the entrance.

There was something rather gratifying about the scenario that appealed to him; the faithful’s beloved Herald, lounging in her fine tent and smoking expensive Orlesian elfroot while the rest of them went on outside, maintaining the camp for her and her companions after an arduous trek across the desert. 

“What do you think it was like, being immortal?” Ashanna asked suddenly, waving her hand through the smoke she had been manipulating and turning to face him. Her eyes shone bright now, and glinted with mischief.

He paused, caught off guard by the question. What purpose did she have of asking this? Did she harbor suspicions of him, or had he given anything away? A mild wave of panic gripped him, slowing his thoughts before he could collect himself enough to continue.

“I have been thinking about it a great deal since our last discussion on ancient elves. I find it hard to wrap my brain around.”

Idle curiosity, then. A relief. He coughed, expelling a bit of smoke. His head swam, floaty and heavy at the same time.

“In what way, _lethallan_?” he asked.

“You mentioned that certain spells and rituals could take months or years to cast, along with social events and activities. Wouldn’t they have been incredibly bored during that time? Every year I had to sit through _Elgara'enae’sal_ festival’s blasted Sun Dance, which is two hours long and performed three times throughout the day. How in the void did ancient elves sit through rituals that take years? I would die of boredom.”

Solas chuckled.

“What is two hours, two months, or two years, to a people for whom time is unending? To rush through life as a mortal would would blind you and make you vulnerable to enemies and plots that may have been decades in the making.” 

She hummed, sounding skeptical of his claims.

“What about pets then? Did the ancient elves keep them? If so, wouldn’t they be sad all the time seeing them die so quickly?I was inconsolable for a week after the clan’s mouser passed away.”

Solas opened his mouth, then thought better and closed it. Some elves kept animals as pets, but it had been rare. Far more efficient to fashion an animal construct and bind a spirit to it, willing or not, to get all the benefit of a loyal pet but none of the mess or death. Or why use a spirit at all, when you could take a few decades to breed elven slaves that were treated no differently?

A sour taste rose in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it back down.

“You always have the most fascinating questions. But, like most of Dalish beliefs of ancient elves, I expect that the truth may end up being be far less romanticized than expected.”  

“It’s just so…incredibly odd to think about people living that way,” she said, eyes staring straight up at the tent’s ceiling. “Ancient, ethereal beings that never aged and performed amazing feats of magic that our world will likely never see again. We try so hard to seek out these little scraps of knowledge, but for what? It’s a way of life that is alien to us.”

Her voice grew quiet, even with the sound dampening wards he had to strain to hear it.

“We’re not immortal. We flash for a short time, and burn away, and then the next generation will take over. And each time we move further and further from our old ways. Why try to recreate something that wasn’t meant for us?”

“An uncommon view. I have heard Dalish argue that it was meant for them.” Perhaps the single fact he and the Dalish agreed on.

Ashanna snorted.  

“I have as much interest in ancient elves as most Dalish, but it’s been thousands of years since they’ve been around. In all that time, wouldn’t someone have found _something_? Every year, every arlathvhen, we all sit and hope that someone found it, the big discovery that will mean something to our people and lead us into change, but it’s always bones and ashes and disappointment.”

“What is your alternative then? To live as second class citizens to humans, cowering in forests and alienages as they take everything that our people once had?”

“My life was not spent cowering in the woods, fadewalker,” she snapped, face darkening. “It…it may not be in golden spires of twining crystal but it was mine all the same. I may complain about the Sun Dance and how tedious it is, but I also looked forward to wearing my mother’s yellow beads, weaving golden threads into the halla’s horns and chasing other clan mates with jars of ashes.”

Solas let out a harsh breath, letting his ire escape him.

“I did not mean to cause offense. You have my apologies, _vhenan_ ; it was clearly an event that brought you great joy. I simply find the ever growing fragmentation of your people to be lamentable.”

“I know, _ma’halla_. I know what our way of life looks like to outsiders. You are not the first person to make assumptions and you won’t be the last. I Just forget sometimes…how much of it was enjoyable to me now that I am no longer welcome there.”

She laughed, sharp and high pitched, rubbing what he suspected were tears from her face.

“Sorry, I’m very high right now. I don’t really know what I’m saying.”

“You do not need to apologize. I enjoy listening to your thoughts, and the questions you ask are good ones.”

And that at least was a truth he could give her. Being around mortals had changed him, being around her and _with_ her had changed him further. His goals were shifting, his plans dashing to ruins because of one Dalish with her hands firmly grasped around his heart. How long could he keep pretending? Ten years, before she noticed the signs of aging not marking him? Fifty years, until she withered away in his arms?

She shifted by him, reaching for the rolled bundle of herbs he’d set aside, lighting it with a flash of magic that made her anchor flare and his mana sing in response. When she leaned down to press her lips to his it was full of smoke and he accepted It gratefully as a reprieve from the turbulent thoughts storming through his head, her smoke flowing into his lungs and setting root as surely as her affections had. He held her head to his, passing the smoke back to her, and again, until there was none left, and then no air as they greedily took what the other gave.

He reached for the herb and set it aside so that her hands were free to bury into the soft wool of his tunic. Her movements were clumsy and full of too much tongue, leaving his chin wet and his tunic damp from the saliva that escaped, and yet he could think of none sweeter that he’d experienced in his long, long life. Her hands moved from his front to smooth over the back of his head, sweeping under his ears.

She pulled back, tongue tucked behind her teeth.  

“Touch me, please?” she breathed against his lips, putting her hands into his own. They were so small, in comparison. His fingers smoothed over the rough scars on her knuckles.

“Yes,” he agreed, breath short.

She giggled at the seriousness in his tone and began to pull her linen over her head, the bulk of her battle armor already discarded when they bedded down for the night. It was dark in the tent, too dark to see the goosebumps that were likely traveling up her skin as it was bared to the crisp fereldan air.

A light wisp helped to remedy this, and filled the small space with illumination to highlight the freckles that swept across each curve.

For now he motioned for her to move onto her back on the bedroll. She was bare from the waist up, nipples peaked from obvious anticipation as she settled back. Her gaze was piercing when she looked down at him, the smile she bore both triumphant and eager. He played his fingers lightly over her sides, dragging them down to her belly and back up until they barely brushed the undersides of her breasts. She sucked in a deep breath when he repeated the motion.

“Get on with it,” she grunted, moving her leg to strike him in mocking humor. He caught the leg by her ankle and pressed his lips to the bone there.

“By your request then, Herald.”

Placing her leg gently back to the ground, he moved his hands up the length of her torso until each breast was in hand, allowing him to thumb over each nipple lightly. He knew this was what she wanted when she begged for his touch.

The moan she let out was loud, and he was once again thankful for the wards that were set as well as whatever force in the universe was responsible for her delightfully sensitive breasts. A few gentle squeezes before he bent down to pull a nipple between his teeth. Just the right amount of pressure to make her squirm beneath him, then a little harder to make her gasp his name. Release, soothe the darkened peaks with a sweep of the tongue, and switch to the other one. Soft kisses up the underside, a gentle bite on the nipple to make her cry out, and repeat. A dance that took him some time to learn, but one in which the results were exquisite.

When her hips started to buck against his chest, He moved his attention lower, kissing a trail of freckles that disappeared underneath the waistband of her leggings. His fingers hooked into them as he glanced up, seeking permission.

Her eyes were glazed with far more than herb now, breasts still gleaming, but she nodded when his questioning gaze met with hers. Leggings and smalls came down, already soaked from arousal and he wasted no time settling between her legs to press his lips to the newly exposed flesh. He could kiss a path up and down her thighs, tease her and keep her on the edge for hours, but neither were in the mood for teasing any longer.

He ran two of his fingers along her entrance a few times up and down the slit before sliding in with ease. When he bent down to lap at the dark, swollen bud she hissed and arched, hands coming down to either side of his head. His fingers curled deeper and her nails dug into the side of his head in a manner that was not unpleasant in the slightest. A few heavy licks against her and she was crying out and shuddering around him, eyes squeezed shut in bliss.

“Already?” he asked playfully. He let his fingers slip free, wiping them on the bedroll. She panted behind one of the pillows that had been pulled over her face, and he rested his head on her thigh, enjoying the sight of the slick between her legs and her heaving breasts. After a moment, her thighs tightened around his head, angling his face back between her legs.

“Keep going, please.” It is a request, not an order, but he took it as such, and obeys the desires of the woman who was positioned to be both the savior and destruction of the modern world.

He threaded their fingers together and went back to work, letting her legs hook behind his back. The scent of her surrounded him, making his blood burn and his head buzz from elfroot and arousal. He licked and sucked intricate patterns to allow time for her sensitivity to recede, and when his exploratory licks upwards no longer produced a flinch he focused his attention there, putting his mouth directly onto her.

It may have been a matter of minutes or hours before her back arched and she came again with a soft gasp, hips bumping against his chin as she rode out her release. She gasped for breath, head falling back onto the pillows and legs slackening as the tension drained from her body. He continued to lick until the last of the shudders finally subsided, and he finally unlaced his fingers and pulled his face free to wipe her slick running down his chin.

Her eyes fluttered shut, breaths coming out in short pants until they evened out.

“It was adequate, I hope?”

His only response was a snore.

He could not stop the smile that bloomed on his lips if he tried, and he chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. His own arousal was pressing against his breeches, but he ignored it in favor of gathering the blanket and covering Ashanna with it. She barely responded to him, already deep into her journey into the Fade. He could join her there, but it was better to allow her to truly rest.

A kiss pressed to her temple, and he took but a moment to ensure that his appearance wasn’t disheveled before exiting the tent and retrieving the staff he’d left out front. A few of the Inquisition soldiers nodded and made way for him as he moved through camp, deferring to his status as the Inquisitor’s Arcane Advisor.

He thought of their discussion and the earnest questions she had asked of him. Her earlier words echoed in his head.

_“If so, wouldn’t they be sad all the time seeing them die so quickly?”_

He gripped his staff tighter as his chest grew hollow, before continuing on to his sleeping tent.


	11. Mercy (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW
> 
> Pure smut.

He blinks his way back into waking. Rough, woolen blankets scratch his skin and do little to keep out the cold from the old stone walls. Just the air itself outside the Dreaming feels thick and oppressive, like waking to his his head being plunged into an ice cold bucket of water.

Yet he finds it troubling him less and less each morning he wakes with company in his arms.  

That thought alone is enough to trigger the gnawing in his gut, even with his lover’s body curled around him in sleep and body aching with a pleasant soreness. How much longer until such things no longer concern him at all? Growing used to the heavy weight of the world without the Fade threading its magic through the very air they breathe, communicating only in dulled voices and emotions.

_He should end things soon before-_

A heavy snore right by his ear interrupts his thoughts, perhaps mercifully so, and he turns his attention back towards the woman in his arms. Spittle pools at the corner of her mouth and onto his shoulder. Lips quirking upwards, he reaches out to swipe his thumb across her lips.  

Her eyes flutter beneath her eyelids, so he kisses the corner of her now clean mouth gently, assisting her out of her journey into the Fade. As with every time before, he buries his troublesome thoughts for another time and tries to live in the present. He would live in this moment forever, if he could.

“Good morning,” he greets when one eye cracks open. “Sleep well?”

“It’s dark outside,” she mumbles into his skin, a note of accusation in her tone.

“It is still technically morning. And you have a meeting with your advisors soon.”

She groans and sits up, raising her arms high over her head in a stretch. The thick fur blanket she’d hoarded in sleep falls from her shoulders and bares her to his view. His breath catches in his throat.

Red teeth marks run up her neck and down the sides of her breasts; evidence of their previous night’s activities. His pulse quickens as the memory overwhelms him momentarily; of frantic limbs and white teeth and throaty moans.

She catches him staring and glances down, where the blankets are tented around his erection.

“I have some time before my meeting,” she says as she slides into his lap and leans close, breath heavy on the shell of his ear. Heat creeps up his limbs, pooling in his belly. “If there is anything important my fade advisor has to discuss, I would hear it.”

“I have received reports of more rifts opening in the Hinterlands, particularly those larger than ones we’ve come across previously. The demons have hampered Inquisition activity in those areas and should be dealt with at some point.”

Ashanna pauses, brows furrowed tightly at him.

“I…are you serious? I was talking about sex.”

“I am always serious, vhenan,” he answers, but can not quite keep the smile out of his lips and she catches it, nipping the corner of his mouth lightly. Her hand reaches between their bodies to pull the blankets aside so she can grasp him in full. He closes his eyes and sighs when she leans forward to rest her forehead against his to work her hand against him a few times. Her hair brushes against his face; smelling of elfroot and myrrh. It has gotten longer since he last saw it, and she seems to be content with letting it grow out.

“I want to suck you,” she whispers against his lips. Despite his age and experience, he can feel a flush forming on his cheeks at her blunt words. Not at the act itself, but the meaning behind it.

How long has it been since anyone had wanted him in such a way? He was undeserving.

“That is not necessary.” He plants kisses on the underside of her jaw down her neck, licking the pulse that jumps there.  

“I want to. I did…ah…” she gasps a little when he gently bites the skin above her pulse. “Research.”

“Research,” he repeats slowly. ”On…”

“Sucking cock.”

“That is…well.” Now he knows he is blushing well and fully. She has no shyness around it, clearly.

She watches him expectantly, amber eyes shining in the darkened room, and hand still slowly pumping him. It is hard to think with her hand around him and the magic of the anchor vibrating through his skin.

Her enthusiasm sways him as it has in everything, so he closes his mouth and nods, cheeks burning.

She goes slow, which is a surprise to him. In most cases she is the one begging him to go faster or increase his pace, crying for release while he takes his time to savor.

A tongue slides beneath his foreskin and around the head, drawing a deep groan from his throat. The urge to close his eyes and sink back into the bed is strong, but he resists to keep his gaze on her; the way her plush lips brush his cock, the way her breasts push up against his knees, the sight of him disappearing into her mouth as she swallows him as far as she can take. Her eyes meet his, heavy lidded and shining with excitement.

“You are enjoying this,” he breathes, resting his hand gently on the back of her head. He is careful not to apply any pressure.

“I enjoy seeing you at my mercy,” she responds after pulling off of him, working her hand over his well slicked cock. She brushes the head of him across her lips, wet with more than saliva. Before he can think of a response she is on him again, head bobbing from her efforts. Her movements are clumsy and over enthusiastic, and several times she has to back off after taking too much of him down her throat. But his body cares little as the muscles of his stomach clench in response, pleasure flooding his veins with each drag of that sweet, clever mouth.

He feels his end approaching quickly, far too quickly at the steady pace she has now set.

“Ashanna, stop,” he begs.

She stops and looks up at him, concerned.

“At this rate I will not last much longer. Please _vhenan_ , let me feel you.”

“Alright,” she agrees, wiping a smear of slick from her cheek. They take a moment to adjust positions; him shifting down so she can settle her legs over him and sink down onto his aching cock in one swift movement.

“Ahh, _ma’halla_ ,” she groans, echoing his pleased hiss. “You feel so good.”

Pleasure curls in his chest at her words.

“I am at your mercy,” he breathes.

She leans down to press her mouth to his, tongue slipping into his mouth before she sits back up, braces her hands on the bed and begins to roll her hips. He can do little other than dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass while she sets a relentless pace; riding him with earnest. Her gasps turn into moans that fill the room, making him thankful for his skill in sound proof warding. His hands slide up her body to pluck at dark nipples, enjoying the sounds she makes as he does so. Her breasts fill his hands, warm and pliant beneath his touch.

She cries his name when he pinches a nipple as hard as he is comfortable with.

“I’m going to come,” she gasps, hips slapping obscenely down on his.

“Just a little bit longer,” he begs, hands finding a spot on either side of her waist. “Wait for me, _vhenan_.”

“Hurry,” she groans, sweat beading down the front of her face.

No more words were said as they hold one another and chase their release together; the only sounds being that of their flesh and the moans they were drawing out of the other.

He comes a few seconds after she does. He feels her hips stutter against him as she drags her clit across his groin, her breath warm on his neck. Pleasure dulls his senses for several long moments, while he waits for the beating of his heart to slow. When he is aware again he is kissing her, holding her head between his hands as his softening cock slips out of her.

“My love,” he breathes, momentarily overwhelmed. He wants to live in this afterglow forever, before the intrusive thoughts begin to take over again.

She kisses the divot in his chin and sits up, looking towards the window where the morning sun is already beginning to stream in.

“I should go meet the others in the war room.”

“Better leave now, before the gossip mongers spy you sneaking out of the fade advisor’s room in the same clothes you wore the previous day.”

She makes a face at him and eases out of bed, while he watches her body sway and ignores the stirring in his loins once more. Once she is dressed, she turns back to address him.

“If you could prepare your report on the new rifts in the Hinterlands, i would prefer to receive it in my private quarters later this evening.”

He cannot help but chuckle.

“As you wish, Inquisitor.”


	12. 3 in the Morning (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW
> 
> Ashanna x her pillow

* * *

There was something to be said about sleeping in a giant castle, warm beneath a pile of furs, while a winter storm raged outside. Ashanna woke to the sound of thundering, rain pelting the sturdy stone walls of Skyhold, and a steady throb between her legs.

She groaned and curled up against the furs, drawing them closer around her while she squeezed her thighs together. Arousal was quite a new experience for her. Most of her life up until now she had been rather unconcerned with it, preferring to get her thrills through those cheap Orlesian novels.

Maybe it was the fact that she had finished a particularly sordid one the previous night, or was due to start her menses any day that had her waking up in such a state.

What lies she told herself. The cause was clear as soon as she arched against the soft plush fabric and imagined it being the hard press of the elf that called her _vhenan_ in a broken voice that made her feel like she was the only thing tethering him to this world.  

Her face grew warm as she lazily rolled her hips against a pillow, the friction sending delightful tingles spreading up and down her body to pool in her core. The winter chill bothered her little now, as she loosened the furs as her body heated. Her hips sped up, fabric sliding against sensitive flesh and her gasp echoed through the large empty room.

She wondered if Solas did the same, waking hard and stiff in the mornings to thoughts of her, forced to take himself in hand to relieve the ache. His long, calloused fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his breeches onto the smooth expanse of his stomach with a soft intake of breath, sliding down the length of him before gripping himself. She had felt him against her body once in such a state.

What would it be like to lay with him?

Ashanna moaned, her breath coming out in shorter pants as she reached into her small clothes. Her finger explored experimentally, but it did not feel nearly as good as the pillow had. With a frustrated grunt she wriggled out of her small clothes and shifted onto her knees, pillow pressed firmly up against her cunt.

She cried out as soon as she hit a spot that made her toes curl, falling forward onto her hands to brace her weight, focusing on grinding against that spot. Instead of a soft pillow she imagined it to be Solas pushing inside her, holding her close and whispering words of longing in archaic elven.

He was such a strange man, hiding his secrets and pain with polite detachment and a scholarly affectation. It made him desperate and distant at the same time, and as much as she craved those times of desperation she had said she would give him the time he needed to come to terms with…them.

So instead she gasped and ground her hips wildly against the pillow beneath her, her nipples hard against the fabric of her tunic. She thought of Solas, holding her as she rode him, his face flushed and reverent. He would watch her the entire time, she thought; eyes full of adoration while she counted the freckles on his reddened skin down his neck and shoulders and-

She flushed, feeling heat creep up her neck.

His cock, thick and deep inside her. Her insides clenched as she rode the plush pillow, empty and wanting to be filled. Her mind twisted the fantasy; instead of riding him from atop he mounted her from behind instead, taking her as an animal would.

“Solas,” she gasped, both in her fantasy and out. The pillow between her legs was soaked, but she kept moving her hips, feeling a heaviness rising from the base of her spine.

The Solas in her head bent over her, sliding his cock between her folds and sinking deep within her. His large hands covered hers, entwining their fingers together.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he ground out between thrusts. “You are…magnificent.” His voice would be hoarse, puffing over the back of her neck each time he snapped his hips.

She didn’t bother muffling her cries; her room was large and empty and no one would hear her. When she came with heat blossoming between her legs in a burst it left her shaking and breathless for several minutes, thighs trembling from the strength of it until she sank back down onto the bed. Her hand stroked herself through the aftershocks, rubbing circles lazily through slick flesh.

Her chest ached; wishing he were here now to hold her afterwards.

She panted, reaching for the furs to pull them over her now cooling body. How deep into things she had fallen.


	13. Her Worship (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW
> 
> tumblr prompt - solas sneaks away for a bit of liknsuk

There had been a time when the smell of elfroot smoke was detestable to Solas. It would trail behind the Herald wherever she traveled within Haven, lingering at the war table until he had to expressly forbid the substance from being used in his own cabin when she would join him for conversation. She had protested but he remained firm. The smell was pungent and unpleasant at the time, and would stick in the back of his throat when inhaled.

Odd to think a scent that he contributed so much to her delinquency had now become a comfort of sorts. It perhaps did not help that it was inescapable; the smell clung to him however faintly, weaving into the fabric of his clothing and lingering on his skin. Often it earned a pointed grin or jest at his expense when another of the Inner Circle recognized its source. Even now when he brought his hand to his lips and inhaled deeply, it was with the rich, earthy scent he had come to associate with his lover.

Underneath the elfroot however there was another familiar scent clinging to his fingers, one that made his eyes close as the memory that brought it there sprang into his mind. Of his fingers sinking deep into warm and yielding flesh, trembling muscles and blunt nails digging into his skin. Amber eyes burning deep into his as he worshiped her, her voice calling out to false Gods that did not deserve her.

The brief moment passed, and he opened his eyes. One hand had been gripping the edge of his desk tightly enough to whiten his knuckles, and the room had grown several degrees warmer in his estimation. The activity of the Skyhold libraries continued above him unchanged, the rest of the room oblivious to his slip in concentration. He attempted to return to his work translating the words of fumbling humans attempting to make sense of the Veil, but all he could smell was the elfroot and her and and after a few moments he was once more lost in recent memory.

A flush rose up his neck; it was clear that work would not come easy to him in such a state. Tugging on his collar to loosen it, he stood from his desk and rolled his neck, feeling the weariness in his bones from being seated in study for too long. Some company would be preferable.

Finding the inquisitor was never a difficult matter. The anchor called to him across short distances, and so he found her easily among back wings of her fortress. Not tending to the many herb patches in the gardens, as he expected. No, it was in the room of worship and a colossal statue of Andraste that he found her, among a few petitioners deep in prayer. He wondered if it was Andraste’s name on their tongues, rather than the person in flesh and blood standing next to them.

Solas leaned against the wall of the room, and watched the humans stand and bow their heads in reverence to their Herald, oblivious to her fidgeting and obvious discomfort. One held a babe in their arms, held up to witness their Holy One in person. The significance of the human’s deference to the tiny elven woman in an oversized tunic smudged with dirt was not lost on him.

After their business was concluded, they walked past the elf standing in the corner without a second glance, leaving them the only occupants of the small prayer room.

“Don’t tell me you have a child you want me to bless as well?” She asked him once the door was closed behind them. Her arms crossed over her chest, fixing him with an unamused look.

“It is not your blessing I seek,” he responded, moving closer to the alter. Andraste loomed over them both, the stone glinting from the many candles left by the faithful. “But I would show my devotion in another way.”

He halted his movement a hairsbreadth from her, allowing her to contemplate his words. From here the scent of burnt herb was strong and fresh, and he inhaled deeply, allowing it to flow into his lungs. A heaviness washed over him and settled into the pit of his stomach.

Her eyes met his, the yellow bright from the sun hitting the stained glass and candlelight. Warmth pooled over her skin and made her glow and look every bit as God-touched as they thought her to be.

“Will you allow me to worship you, Inquisitor?” He knelt down at her feet in emphasis, anticipation already boiling under his skin and stirring the blood in his loins. His eyes sought out the small scars on her knees, the freckles on her calves. Her legs were deliciously bare; flagrant in her disregard of human fashion. Pillars of strength that carried the weight of the world on them, corded with muscle and scars and burdens.

He longed to ease her of those burdens, if only for a time.

“Here?” She asked, sounding vaguely amused. “In front of Andraste?”

“What better place for her to see her Chosen One receiving the supplication she is entitled?”

“This is a public place of worship, Solas. Anyone could walk in.”

“I already set wards in place.”

“You-?” She trailed off in a chuckle. _“Leth’alas,_ ” Her hand however reached for his scalp, pulling him closer. He glanced up, taking in the lip tucked behind the front of her teeth and the brightness of her gaze.

Solas reached for her then, pulling her leggings and smalls down in one quick movement. Before she could even move to step out of them he was on her; pressing his face into the thatch of hair between her legs and hands cupping her ass. He groaned as soon as the scent of feminine arousal flooded his senses, heating curling in his belly and lower and making his cock stir with interest. She gasped and reached out to steady herself onto the statue, watching him through lowered lashes with Andraste looking down at them both far above.

He was ravenous for her, but his hand reached for one of hers to squeeze gently before returning to his task.

His head dipped to swipe the flat of his tongue across lower lips, greedy for the taste of her bursting on his tongue. Another time, another place and he would savor this moment; take his time to tease her inner thighs with breath and filthy words before feasting. But like most things in this new world, they had little time to enjoy anything to the fullest extent, and had to move with haste. Her choked cry when he pulled her pearl between his mouth and applied pressure was more than gratifying.

His hands tightened on her ass, pulling her closer to his mouth. She gasped and moved one leg over his shoulder, allowing her to be spread wider while she held onto the statue for dear life. It allowed him to press deeper into her, letting his tongue push inside and his nose to press against her already swollen bud.

That earned him another cry that echoed through the small chamber and set his blood aflame. His cock strained in his leggings but he paid it little mind. There was a particular thrill in denying himself with her cunt lay so bare and open to him like so, and the trust she gave him to please her was not one he would repay in self pleasure.

Solas lapped at her, pulling her lips into his mouth to suck and release with an obscene sound, laving her swollen bud with a flat tongue and the gentle press of his teeth. Her slick dripped down his chin and her legs, staining the wooden floors. Her thighs trembled and legs wobbled, due in part to his voraciousness.

“I don’t think I can stay standing,” she gasped in a weak voice, hands scrabbling at the statue behind her.

In one quick movement, Solas pulled back and lifted her leg from his shoulder, placed his hands on her hips and spun her around. Her hands instinctively braced against the statue when his knee nudged her legs back apart and pressed lightly against her lower back, the wider stance giving her far more stability.

When he dropped back to his knees and pressed his mouth back to her, she moaned, low and heady. His cock pulsed at the sound, pressing uncomfortably against the fabric of his pants. He welcomed the discomfort, wanting to draw more of those noises out. His hands now were free to reach around her front, stroking in tandem with his lips. She moaned his name and a shudder went through him. He felt delirious with want with the smell and taste of her surrounding him, the feel of her wet skin pliant against his fingers.

Not even one of Andruil’s arrows could have swayed him from his task, though his need to remember to breathe did. Sucking in a greedy gulp of breath, he took a moment to admire her form, the trust she gave him to devour her in such a way making his heart swell and his cock grow even harder. He swallowed, half tempted to kiss along the path of her spine, lift her tunic and sink into her wet heat right here in front of the Human’s martyred goddess.

Another time, perhaps.

She panted and wheezed above him, fists pounding against the stone when he once more found that swollen pearl and rolled it between his fingers. Her legs were pulled taut when his tongue once more delved between folds that had been thoroughly overstimulated, scraping across nerve endings that left her keening. She was close.

“Solas,” she sobbed, face pressed into the crook of her arm when he grazed her with his teeth.

“Exquisite,” he praised, peppering each syllable with a firm swipe of his thumb. “Please _vhenan_ , let go. I have you.”

She did, crying out in a wail that sent the pigeons in the rafters above soaring to quieter roosts. Her thighs shook, calves trembling from the pressure of having her feet raised to her tip toes.

He did not stop licking until the tension in her body drained, and she slowly lowered her heels back to the floor. She likely would have sagged to the ground were it not for his hands supporting her ass. Finally, he pulled his face from her and wiped his chin with the back of his hand, sending droplets of her slick scattering to the floor.

His cock twitched in his breeches, still hard and sensitive to the touch. He ignored his needs, instead turning back to Ashanna to pull her smalls and breeches back up. He pressed his lips to each cheek before pulling them back over her hips and tying the laces for her, then straightening to plant a kiss along her jawline. Her hair was soft against him, the smell of herb still potent and he could not resist taking a strand to inhale deeply. She turned and rested her back against the statue with shaking knees.

He smiled fondly at her, indulging in her dazed expression.

She opened her mouth, but a pounding at the door interrupted whatever she was to say next. He took the moment to adjust the front panel of his tunic over his erection as best as possible; something to be taken care of at a later time.

“Ah, the people have need of Her Worship, and I should return to my studies. I shall leave you to attend to your duties, Inquisitor.”

He turned on his heel then, the sputtering sound behind him bringing a smile to his lips.


End file.
